Page 19 of Run Little Fawn

You look succulent even in those baggy clothes, little fawn.

I could just eat you up.

- H

The world tilts on its axis, the dingy gas station fading away as a wave of dizzying panic crashes over me. He's here. He has to be. How else could he know what I'm wearing? What I look like right now?

I spin around, my eyes darting wildly as I search for any sign of him. But there's no one there. Just the bored cashier and a few racks of stale snacks and motor oil.

I'm losing my mind. That's the only explanation. The stress and the fear are finally taking their toll, making me see threats where there are none. He's just fucking with me.

But even as I try to convince myself of that, I can feel his eyes on me. Watching. Waiting. Like a wolf stalking its prey, biding its time until the perfect moment to strike.

I grab the water and my change, mumbling a barely coherent thanks to the cashier as I all but run back to the truck. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely get the key in the ignition, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps as I peel out of the parking lot.

I don't know where I'm going. I don't know what I'm doing. All I know is that I have to keep moving, have to put as much distance between myself and this place as possible.

Because if I don't, if I let him catch me now...it's game over. And I'm not ready for that. Not yet. Not ever.

So I drive, the miles blurring together once more as I lose myself in the endless stretch of highway. And all the while, his words echo in my mind, a taunting reminder of the fate that awaits me if I falter.

Tick tock, little fawn. Tick tock.

Chapter Ten

THE HUNTER

The miles stretch out before me, an asphalt river shimmering in the midday heat. My fingers tap an idle rhythm against the steering wheel, my body humming with a restless energy that borders on anticipation. It's not the most efficient mode of transportation, but it's only round one and I'm enjoying doing things the old fashioned way.

More rewarding that way, if nothing else.

She's out there, my little fawn. I can feel her, a prickling awareness at the edge of my senses, a tug in my gut that pulls me ever closer to her trail.

I have to admit, I'm impressed. When I first laid eyes on Aria Moreau, I saw nothing more than a frightened little fawn, all wide eyes and trembling limbs. But she's surprised me at every turn, displaying a resourcefulness and cunning that I didn't expect from a sheltered librarian.

Perhaps that fox mask wasn't too far off.

Buying a car off a random stranger, driving for hours on end, disguising herself to try to throw me off—it's almost enough to make me believe she has a chance in this twisted game of ours.

Almost.

A slow smile curves my lips as I remember the look on her face when she read my message, the dawning horror in those pretty green eyes as she realized I was watching her every move. She thinks I'm tracking her through the phone, that I have eyes and ears everywhere just waiting to report back to me.

But the truth is, I don't need any fancy toys or loyal minions to find her. I have something much more powerful at my disposal—an instinct for the hunt that borders on preternatural.

It's a gift, or so I've been told. A sixth sense that allows me to track my prey across any distance, through any obstacle. Some might call it a curse, this unrelenting drive to chase and capture and claim.

But to me, it's the sweetest rush in the world.

As late as I started, even my father had to admit that I took to the hunt like a duck to water. I'd already killed people by the time he got his hands on me, so the instincts were there. You might even say they're buried in my DNA.

And one day, those instincts, that dark gift he passed down from father to son, will be the thing that ends him.

And right now, that rush is telling me that my little fawn is close. So close I can almost taste her fear on the wind, feel the pounding of her heart like a second pulse in my veins.

I press down on the accelerator, the engine of my sleek black car roaring to life as I speed down the highway. The scenery blurs past in a smear of green and gray, the miles melting away beneath my tires.

I don't know exactly where she's going, but I have a pretty good idea. The maps and supplies I found scattered across the backseat of her recently acquired truck while she was in the gas station paint a clear picture of her desperation, her scrambling attempts to put as much distance between us as possible. I let her have another head start, just because I wasn't ready to claim her yet. Just to drag it out a little longer.

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